When Mickey Met Sandy
by Lediona
Summary: When Nick is left rattled by a case, he finds a friend in Detective Vartann. Follows episode '4x4' from season five. *** Have thought about exploring this relationship further and have ideas about how it would work with CSI canon. Please leave a review and let me know if you would like to read more!


Grissom appeared around the corner, briefcase under his left arm, 'Tough shift, huh?'

Nick paused before responding. This job forced him to witness and experience many unpleasant, frightening and oftentimes dirty things, but there were some cases that shook him to his core. Nick tried to see the good in all people, in all situations, believing that ultimately we were tied together by kindness, compassion, loyalty and trust. However, there were times that this faith in humanity was tested, as it was tonight, and he was feeling uneasy.

A young boy had shut his best friend in a dryer and watched him tumble to his death. This was no more or less horrific than any of the cases Nick saw every day, but the boy had displayed such a lack of recognition and guilt over what he had done, and it was this that disturbed Nick so greatly. He was used to seeing apathetic and jaded adults – the city of Vegas was mostly inhabited by people who did something to take the edge off reality – but he had seen a similar look in that child. And if children now possessed this same indifference, Nick could only envision a very bleak future.

'Just another day in paradise,' Nick sighed.

Continuing down the hallway, he pulled out his sunglasses, preparing for the blinding sunshine that would greet him on the other side of the door. There were days that he enjoyed finishing work in the morning, the sun helping to drive away the shadows that appeared in his mind during his shifts, but today was not one of those days. He couldn't wait to get home and block out that optimistic sunshine with his curtains and sleep.

Nick fished his keys out of his jacket pocket and headed towards his car.

'Hey, Stokes!'

Nick turned around to see Detective Vartann striding cross the parking lot towards his own vehicle. The detective was carrying his tie and suit jacket in his hand and the top few buttons of his shirt were undone. An easy smile played on his lips, hinting at the welcome reprieve of the end of another shift.

'Oh. Hey, Vartann.' Nick replied, his voice flat and detached. He opened up the driver's side door and threw his bag into the car.

Lou raised an eyebrow and turned on his heel to face Nick. 'Are you all right?'

'Huh? Yeah, man, I'm fine . . .' Nick started to climb into his car, but he could feel Lou still looking at him and put his foot back on the ground. 'Sorry, just had a tough case today. You off now too?'

Lou nodded, a look of concern flashing across his eyes. 'You were on that case with the kid at the bus stop, right?' he asked. 'It's never easy to see 'em die so young, especially in such a senseless way. But I must say that death by laundromat dryer is a new one by me.'

The corner of Nick's mouth twitched, but his sense of humor had been dampened. 'Well, I guess that's part of the job – seeing what new sick and twisted ways people will come up with to hurt each other.' Nick shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and shook his head, leaning back on his car and staring up at the blue expanse of sky.

He could feel anger, disappointment and betrayal building up inside of him. Why had he chosen a career that focused on the depravity, the ugly bitterness and the fickleness of life? It was incredibly draining sometimes.

'You look like you could use a beer . . . or maybe a small keg,' Lou said, noticing Nick's hands straining against the leather of his jacket and the way he was clenching and relaxing his jaw.

'Or a punching bag,' Nick replied, letting his head fall back against the hot metal.

Lou gave a dry chuckle. 'Come on, Stokes. I know just the thing to help clear your head.'

Nick looked over at the detective ready to protest, but Lou had already started off toward his car without waiting for a reply. Nick pulled his bag over his shoulder again and locked his car, following Lou to the black Mazda that was parked a few spaces over.

Nick had never hung out with Lou Vartann outside of work. CSIs and police officers rarely mixed, preferring to stick to their own kind in social settings as well as in the field. With the exception of Captain Brass, who made occasional appearances at breakfasts, Nick could only really remember spending time with the other members of his team.

'So where're we headed?' Nick asked, watching the city fly by outside his window.

'The Ingleston Batting Cages.'

Nick nodded appreciatively. 'I didn't know you were a baseball player, Vartann.'

'Well, during my first few years as a cop, I was known for having a bit of a temper. On more than one occasion I found myself taking a swing at my locker or the wall outside the interrogation room. My captain kindly suggested that I keep my anger away from the workplace, so I started going to the batting cages after work to blow off some steam.' Lou explained.

'He threatened to fire you, didn't he?' Nick grinned over at Lou.

'Indeed he did, but it worked. Look at me now – as laidback a detective as you'll ever find,' Lou said with a grin as he slowed down to pull into the parking lot of the Apex Liquor Store. 'Don't want to be thirsty during batting practice!' Nick's mood brightened at the prospect of throwing back a couple of beers and crushing some baseballs.

It was only eight in the morning, but in Vegas, any hour is beer o'clock and Lou returned to the car five minutes later with a paper bag containing a six-pack. Passing the bag across to Nick, he settled behind the wheel.

The batting cages were just over a mile away, a relic from an old neighborhood park that had fallen victim to redevelopment. Identical beige houses now covered the land, but they had spared the small corner where the batting cages stood. The batting cages were empty this morning. The neighborhood kids were all on their way to school and anyone else who might be inclined to use them was either at work or sleeping off a hangover.

Nick climbed out of the car, holding the beer in one arm, and watched as Lou opened the trunk and pulled out a glove, a wooden bat and a bag of baseballs.

'Wow, man. You mean business, don't you?'

Lou looked down at the equipment in his hands and shrugged. 'Like I said, I came here a lot, and I just got used to always having this stuff with me. Old habits are hard to break, I suppose,' he said, 'Come on, you're up first.'

They walked to the batting cage farthest to the left and set down the gear near the opening in the netting. Nick pulled two beers out of the bag and tossed one to Lou. They stood drinking their beers in companionable silence, Nick feeling a bit calmer with each sip. He'd always been a responsible drinker, but he understood why so many law enforcement officials had drinking problems – it was an easy way to counteract the stress of the job.

Nick finished his beer and dropped the empty can next to the paper bag. He picked up the bat, enjoying the weight of it in his hands. He and Warrick sometimes went to the batting cages, but it had been awhile since he'd last swung a bat. He stepped away from Lou and took a few slow practice swings, his shoulders tight against the movement.

Lou tossed his can next to Nick's and picked up the bag of baseballs. 'You ready?' he asked before heading through the netting and walking to towards the pitcher's rubber. Nick followed him into the cage and took his place at the plate. He took a few more practice swings, each one a little bit harder than the last, as Lou rolled up his shirtsleeves.

The first few pitches were slow but at a good height and right over the plate. Nick made contact easily, sending each ball back towards Lou with a satisfying crack of the bat. As his arm loosened up, Lou's pitches came at a faster pace. Nick got used to the rhythm of Lou's pitching motion– a slight pause after he raised his knee, a long stride as he pushed off the rubber, a smooth arm motion through the air and a graceful follow-through after he released the ball.

_He has good form_, Nick thought after a few more pitches. _I wonder who he pretends to be when he's up there_. From Nick's own experience of baseball as a kid he knew that he always pretended to be some major leaguer when he in the field or at bat. He was Ken Griffey Jr. when he was in the outfield, Lou Gehrig when he played first base and Mickey Mantle when he was batting. He'd never been a pitcher though, and he wondered which of the greats Lou called to mind.

'All right, Stokes, show me what you got,' called Lou, looking at Nick over the top of his glove.

Nick laughed. 'Bring the heat, Vartann.' He settled into his stance and focused his eyes on Lou's glove, envisioning the ball that was hidden behind it.

For the next half hour, Nick fell into a steady rhythm – plant his left foot, twist his right toe into the dirt, prepare his stance and swing. He could feel sweat dripping down his face, the sun beating down on the back of his neck, blisters forming on the palms of his hands and his arms begin to ache, but he relished the discomfort of it all. Each swing released a bit of pain and anger, each swing eliminated a bit of his negativity.

One pitch landed close to Nick's knuckles, sending vibrations through the bat and up into his arms and causing a shooting pain in the palms of his hands. He leaned the bat against his thigh and looked down at his red hands. 'Time to call it quits?' Lou called from the other end of the cage.

Nick nodded, making fists with his hands and wincing. 'Yeah, I'm done, man. My hands are torn to shreds.' He glanced up to see Lou picking up the baseballs that littered the ground. At some point during their session, Lou had taken off his button down and his t-shirt was soaked in sweat and he was breathing heavily. Nick snorted. Leave it to a cop to wait for the other guy to quit first. He picked up the bat and went to grab another beer for himself and Lou.

They sat on a lone picnic table near the cages nursing their beers. The cold aluminum can feeling good against Nick's blistered hands.

'You're good,' Nick said, after gulping down half his beer in silence, 'Did you play much ball when you were younger?'

Lou glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, trying to decide if the younger man was taking a crack at him but decided Nick was just asking a question. 'I played some college ball until I broke my ankle during my junior year. Two pins and a long recovery process later and I just wasn't the same pitcher.' Lou shrugged and took another swig of beer. 'It never really leaves you though.'

Nick understood. 'Yeah, that's how I feel about football. I enjoyed playing baseball but football . . . football was in here,' he said, tapping his chest, 'But then I am from Texas, where you're expected to live and breathe football. I wonder what my dad would've done if I had chosen soccer or track instead of football . . .'

'Disowned you.'

'Probably. Hell, he once got so angry at me for skipping practice one day that I stayed after practice for two weeks running and doing up-downs by myself. He never saw me do this, of course, but I was so scared that I felt I had to punish myself. I was in great shape after those two weeks though, I'll tell you that!' Nick laughed at the memory. 'I'd probably keel over and die if I tried that now. Oh, the wonders of youth . . .'

Lou chuckled. 'Yup, one day you're throwing nine full innings and the next you're done after thirty minutes of pitching to an ex-football player.'

'Hey now! I'm not that bad!' Nick exclaimed. 'I connected with most of them.'

'That's because I'm old and can't throw like I used to.'

'I'm sure you nearly hit 70mph a couple ti –' Lou punched him in the arm before he could continue. Nick just laughed. 'Maybe we should bring a speed gun next time to see just how slow –' Another punch. 'I'm just joking!' Lou threw him a nasty look and Nick held up his hands in innocence. They fell into silence.

After a couple minutes Nick asked, 'Who do you think of when you pitch?'

'Hm?' Lou was drawn out of his daze.

'You know, when you're up on the mound and everything's going really well, who do you pretend you are? I'm always Mickey Mantle when I bat,' Nick explained.

Lou smiled and looked down at the empty beer can in his hands. 'Sandy Koufax,' he said quietly. 'I've always pretended that I'm Koufax when I'm on the mound. He pitched in the first major league game I ever went to. I remember sitting in the outfield bleachers at Dodger Stadium with my dad and thinking that I was witnessing the greatest game ever played. Actually, I think Koufax took the loss that game, but to me he was outstanding. So after that, every time I threw a baseball, I was Sandy Koufax instead of Louis Vartann. I felt it made me much more intimidating, even if the batters didn't realize they were facing the great Koufax when they stepped up to the plate.'

'If they would've known, they'd've been quaking in the cleats,' Nick said, clapping Lou on the shoulder. He took the last sip of beer and looked down at the empty can in his hands. 'Hey, I have the White Sox – Yankees game recorded from last night. You want to come over and watch it? Maybe order a pizza?'

'Yeah, okay. _Watching_ baseball definitely sounds good right now,' Lou said, rubbing his right shoulder.

Nick laughed. 'Come on, old man, let's get you an ice pack!'

The pepperoni pizza arrived and they settled on the sofa in front of the television. The game was a close one, both teams hitless until the seventh inning when Derek Jeter hit a double off Bobby Jenks. After the excitement of getting a runner on base, the next two Yankees stuck out and the deadlock between the two teams resumed. Nick and Lou began to lose interest, neither being big fans of the Yankees or the White Sox.

Nick grabbed his beer bottle off the table and briefly looked at the remaining liquid before bringing the bottle to his lips and finishing it off. 'Another?' Nick asked, tipping his bottle in Lou's direction. Lou nodded and handed his empty to Nick as he headed off to the kitchen to retrieve another round. He popped off the caps of the bottles with an easy flick of his wrist and returning to the living room, passing Lou the cold beer before settling on the couch again.

Nick knew he should probably get some sleep soon. He usually didn't drink much on work days and today he'd already had six beers, but he was feeling happy and relaxed so he wasn't going to let the guilt niggle at him too much. Baseball and beer had incredible restorative powers after a bad shift.

'So, Sandy, if you hadn't broken your . . . ankle, was it? Ankle. Do you think you would have tried to go pro instead of joining the Academy?' Nick asked, turning his attention away from the television and focusing it on the other man.

Lou chuckled. 'That was the dream,' he sighed, 'but to be honest, I probably wasn't even good enough to play in the Minors. I might have thought I was, but I'm sure I would have gotten worked if I threw against some of those guys. Joining the force seemed like a good second choice – still manly and with a similar likelihood of getting injured.'

'I think you have a greater chance of injury as a cop, at least in a city like Las Vegas! And I'm certain the police force doesn't have the same world class treatment programs as the major leagues.'

'Good point. Maybe this wasn't such a wise career move. Think I could go back to it? Like that guy in the movie the _Rookie_?' Lou asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

'Oh, I don't know, man. I'm not sure the MLB could handle the second coming of Sandy Koufax.'

Lou leaned his head back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling, 'Yeah. . .'

Nick cocked his head to the left, studying the man on the other end of the couch. Lou looked deflated all of the sudden. 'Hey now, I didn't mean to squash your dream. You want to be a pitcher, you go for it.'

Lou looked over at Nick and a half-smile appeared on his lips. 'Nick, I'm well aware that I won't be joining the Yankees, or even the Orioles, any time soon. As much as I might wish it could happen. No, I was thinking about the future.' Lou paused. 'You know, when you're a kid you have all the visions of what your life is going to be like and it's exciting because anything could happen. Any of those dreams might become reality if you work hard and play your cards right. I remember lying awake every night when I was younger creating these detailed stories of what my future life was going to be like. When did I stop doing that? '

The joking manner of conversation had stopped and Nick felt they were venturing into more serious territory. 'When did you stop dreaming of your future?'

'Yeah, I can't remember the last time I thought "what else could I be doing?" and let my mind wander into the realm of unlimited possibilities. As I've gotten older, I've been saying "I am" instead of "I could be". When does that switch happen?'

Nick thought about his own life. He'd always been a dreamer and still was for the most part, but he understood what Lou was talking about. The childhood dreams of being an astronaut or a professional athlete had faded into distant memories, but the feeling that accompanied them, that optimistic, all-encompassing, resolute feeling, remained. Wanting more, wanting something better, wanting something different than the status quo. This still remained for Nick, but he realized that even though what he wanted had changed over time, the wanting was still there. Maybe it was different for Lou?

'Well, finish that sentence,' Nick suggested, 'Right now, if you could be or do anything, what would it be?'

Lou was quiet for a while. 'I could be happy,' he said softly, a slight hitch in his voice.

Nick was surprised by this answer. Lou always struck him as an easy going, content guy. He was always willing to crack a joke or take part in the crazy antics of the lab. Unhappy would be the last word Nick would have used to describe Lou, but then people were usually pretty good at hiding the parts of themselves they didn't want others to see.

Nick pulled his left leg up underneath him and turned to face Lou. 'What would make you happy, Lou?'

Lou gave a derisive laugh. 'That is the question, isn't it? What would make me happy? To spend more time with my son, to have a life outside of work, to travel, to read something other than the newspapers in the break room, to actually be able to go to a baseball game instead of watching it on TV, to reconnect with old friends, to just drop everything and have an adventure.' He paused. 'I guess I still have a few dreams then, huh?'

'I don't think you every stop dreaming. You just become more hesitant to put a voice to them,' Nick said. After a few seconds he added, 'What's stopping you from doing those things?'

Lou ran his hand over his face and took a sip of beer before responding. 'Work, maybe. I guess it's just part of our line of work to get wrapped up in each case, never being able to take a breather before the next fire or dead body calls for our attention. I feel like I'm still trying to prove myself with each case, just like I did when I first got my badge, like I have to be one step ahead all the time. It doesn't leave much room for anything else. And even though I'm always busy, I feel the hole that's there from everything else that used to be a part of my life.'

Nick nodded. His life revolved around the lab; he spent the majority of his day there or in the field and his social circle included very few people who didn't work in the Crime Scene Unit. While he found his job rewarding and challenging and he loved his colleagues, the intensity of his relationship to his work could be oppressive. There were times, like this morning, when he just wanted to escape from it all, run away and start a new life somewhere doing something completely different from being a CSI.

'Yeah, I have that hole, too,' Nick said, 'I think it's that hole that makes this job that much more draining and exhausting. It requires that you give so much of yourself to it that when it knocks you down, you have nothing to fall back on for support or release. But then you're so easily seduced by the challenge of the next case that you get sucked back into the cycle. It's like a drug – the frustration of the puzzle and the thrill of the solution.'

'A CSI addiction. I wonder if they've documented any cases of that yet. Do you need an intervention?' Lou asked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Nick forced a smile. 'I sure felt like I did this morning. After this case, I was seriously beginning to wonder why I was doing this job. Each missing person, each drug overdose, each domestic dispute, each robbery – it all takes so much out of me. I get so sick of all of the ugliness. I just want to sleep until it all goes away.' Nick slumped back into the sofa.

Lou blew out a long sigh. 'I know that feeling all too well. But if we don't do anything to fight against that ugliness, to stop it from spreading, then what? How will anything ever be better?'

Nick shrugged. He had no answers.

' You just keep reminding yourself that what you do is important, Nick, because it is.'

The afternoon sun was pouring in through the windows and the room suddenly felt very warm, which just increased Nick's agitation. He shifted so he was sitting on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, and attempted to still his mind and feel the cooling drafts of the air conditioning. That sense of anger and disappointment was creeping back into his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut and pushed the palms of his hands against them, focusing on the patterns of light that danced across his eyelids.

'What if I'm not strong enough?' he whispered, to himself or to Lou he wasn't sure, but he realized that this was what had been worrying him for a long time. How would he continue to go to work and face one devastating case after another? How could he be sure that he wouldn't fall apart when other people were counting on him? The thought of missing something on a case, of letting people down, of failing made his heart race and he could feel tears forming in his eyes so he squeezed them even tighter. He drew a few uneven, ragged breaths.

A hand settled on the back of his head. 'You are strong enough, Nick. You are one of the strongest people I have ever met. Strength isn't shutting out your emotions and proceeding with your work in some clinical, detached way – that's not strength, that's callousness. That's an attempt to rise above your humanity. Your strength lies in the fact that you can connect with people, that you genuinely are concerned with their welfare and that you want to make a difference.

Never think that's a weakness, Nick. In our line of work, caring is vital. When you stop caring, that's when I'll wonder if you're cut out for this job. Until then, don't beat yourself up for feeling overwhelmed or disillusioned. It's par for the course, especially for someone like you. You take on so much responsibility for things that are beyond your control, but try to remember that you're not alone in this fight. I only wish that more people in this world had your strength, your goodness,' Lou said, his hand squeezing the back of Nick's neck gently.

After a few deep breaths, Nick managed to get his breathing under control and he lifted his head from his hands. He turned his head slightly to the left and glanced up at Lou. 'Thank you,' he said softly, the tension leaving his shoulders.

Nick felt calmer and he was able to breathe easily again. In Lou's comforting presence he was able to calm down and begin to rid himself of those nasty seeds of doubt and guilt that seemed to spring up in his mind so frequently. When they did, they were all-encompassing and overwhelming and they made him feel terribly alone. He was suddenly grateful to have Lou with him and caught Lou's eye, trying to communicate the message without speaking.

A hint of a smile played at the corner of Lou's lips and he nodded in acknowledgment. They sat for awhile in silence, just looking at each other, joined in a moment of understanding.

'You okay?' Lou asked after a minute.

'Yeah, I'm good.' Nick tried to sound confident, but his statement wavered anyway. 'Or I will be. Just need some sleep.'

'Well, you've sure knocked 'em back today. I'm sure you won't have any trouble sleeping now.' Lou gave Nick a slight shove with his elbow. 'You're going to be just fine.'

The exhausting shift, batting practice and alcohol were definitely catching up to him. He yawned. Nick still felt drained but definitely lighter than he had earlier.

Lou chuckled and looked at the watch on his left wrist. 'I'll get going. Thanks for the baseball and pizza, Nick.' He pushed his long form off the sofa and pocketed his cell phone and keys. Nick rose and slowly followed him to the entryway.

They reached the door and Lou turned to give him a reassuring smile.

'Hey, Lou? Thanks, you know, for taking me to the cages and. . .for listening. I'm sorry for kind of melting down on you there.'

Nick stuck out his hand to Lou, feeling grateful and sheepish at the same time. It was rare for Nick to let his guard down, something he usually only did with Catherine or Warrick, and he was a bit embarrassed to have turned into a weepy mess in front of Detective Vartann. It didn't seem like the proper way to start a friendship and he suddenly felt like a little boy next to Lou.

But Lou didn't seem to notice. In fact, he grabbed the proffered hand and pulled Nick into a one-armed hug. It was a kind and comforting gesture and Nick mentally kicked himself for being an idiot.

'Get some rest, Nicky. Everything will be better when you wake up.' Lou's voice was soft and low next to Nick's ear. Nick felt himself nodding.

Lou pulled away. 'See you at work?' he asked, letting go of Nick's hand.

'Yeah, l'll see you there.'

Lou gave him a final wave, opened the door, mid-afternoon heat and bright sunshine greeted them on the other side, and sauntered down the sidewalk. Nick watched Lou leave, only closing the door when the car had disappeared from view. Then he lurched down the hall, ignoring the mess in the living room, and fell into his bed.


End file.
